Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark:
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean;
Thou, that when the billows brave ye,
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy:
Didst thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were respected?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair;
Oft thy breath hath through it sung,
Softening to my magic tongue;
Now, 't is thine to bid it fly
Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale;
Take thy portion and rejoice:
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!
She who sits by haunted well
Is subject to the Nixie's spell;
She who walks on lonely beach,
To the Mermaid's charmèd speech;
She who walks round ring of green
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen;
And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave A weary weird of woe shall have.
By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore,
Minna Troil has braved all this and more;
And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill
A source that's more deep and more mystical still.
Thou art within a demon's hold,
More wise than Heims, more strong than Trold;
No siren sings so sweet as he;
No fay springs lighter on the lea;
No elfin power hath half the art
To soothe, to move, to wring the heart,
Life-blood from the cheek to drain,
Drench the eye, and dry the vein.
Maiden, ere we farther go,
Dost thou note me, ay or no?
I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign; Speak on with thy riddle to read it be mine.
Mark me! for the word I speak
Shall bring the colour to thy cheek.
This leaden heart, so light of cost,
The symbol of a treasure lost,
Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace,
That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease,
When crimson foot meets crimson hand
In the Martyr's aisle, and in Orkney land.
Be patient, be patient, for Patience hath power
To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower;
A fairy gift you best may hold
In a chain of fairy gold;
The chain and the gift are each a true token,
That not without warrant old Norna hath spoken;
But thy nearest and dearest must never behold them,
Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them.
BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISEMENT
POOR sinners whom the snake deceives
Are fain to cover them with leaves.
Zetland hath no leaves, 't is true,
Because that trees are none, or few;
But we have flax and taits of woo',
For linen cloth and wadmaal blue;
And we have many of foreign knacks
Of finer waft than woo' or flax.
Ye gallanty Lambmas lads, appear,
And bring your Lambmas sisters here,
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care,
To pleasure every gentle pair.
ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS DUN
Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in which the Poet had beei engaged with some friends.
ON Ettrick Forest's mountains dun
'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun,
And seek the heath-frequenting brood
Far through the noonday solitude;
By many a cairn and trenched mound
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound,
And springs where grey-haired shepherds tell
That still the fairies love to dwell.
Along the silver streams of Tweed
"T is blithe the mimic fly to lead,
When to the hook the salmon springs,
And the line whistles through the rings;
The boiling eddy see him try,
Then dashing from the current high,
Till watchful eye and cautious hand
Have led his wasted strength to land.
'T is blithe along the midnight tide
With stalwart arm the boat to guide;
On high the dazzling, blaze to rear,
And heedful plunge the barbed spear;
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright,
Fling on the stream their ruddy light,
And from the bank our band appears
Like Genii armed with fiery spears.
'T is blithe at eve to tell the tale
How we succeed and how we fail,
Whether at Alwyn's1 lordly meal,
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel; 2
While the gay tapers cheerly shine,
Bickers the fire and flows the wine -
Days free from thought and nights from care,
My blessing on the Forest fair.
1 Alwyn, the seat of the Lord Somerville.
a The Poet's residence at that time.
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